Small Kindnesses

Recently some people have shown me small kindnesses. And while the acts themselves might have been small, my gratitude was large. These seemingly simple acts made my day. And they have have affected me.

To give you a rundown:

1. A friend in Massachusetts was going to send me something. When the package arrived, it seemed larger than it should be, considering what I knew to be inside. But when I opened it -- Oh! Y'all. Inside was a copy of every Boston Globe dealing with the Red Sox's ALCS and World Series victory. What a gift. I was floored and so touched. When the Sox won the Series in 2004, my husband actually paid money to the Home Shopping Network for a copy of the Globe that documented their victory. But she knew we liked the Sox and she sent these papers.

2. My co-worker, MacKenzie, surprised me and another co-worker with coffees from Starbucks one morning. She knew my favorite flavor -- Gingerbread Latte -- and even got me a grande! It was such a wonderful start to the day and such a pleasant surprise.

3. My friend emailed me and said "You deserve a treat" and then proceeded to give me the tickets to the awesome Georgia v. Auburn game.

4. I've been nominated for a couple of blog awards recently. Y'all might think it's silly, but these meant so much to me. I started this blog kind of as a fluke and when I get these awards it feels like...I don't know. Validation.

5. I had my mom order this shirt for Bubba's birthday from The Rocking Pony's Etsy site (He sooo wants to be a rock star). I read her blog regularly. She reads mine. When the gift arrived today, one of these fell out. She included it for Punkin because she didn't want Punkin to feel left out. I can't even explain how this small act of kindness made me feel. (Go check out her site! She's got some really cute stuff!)


Y'all, all of these times I was so touched that tears came to my eyes. Am I overly emotional? Probably -- I told you I'm an easy crier. But it made me start to try to think of ways -- even small ways -- that I could brighten someone else's day. I get so caught up in my day to day life that I often don't stop to think of others. Is it selfish? Or just a fact of my harried life? I don't know. But I don't want it to be that way. I want to make others feel good about themselves. I want to do things to make others happy.

It may sound kind of cheesy, but I want to pay it forward. So that's my new resolution -- not new year's resolution -- just a plain old resolution.

We Need to Have a Talk

I've noticed that the holidays tend to be stressful. Really? you say sarcastically.

And it's not just the shopping and the running to and fro. It can even be the little things. And no, I'm not talking about the kids, although they add their own special brand of stress.

It's the little things like how we put the lights on the tree. Just ask el-e-e over at Hello, Self. It can be the weather not cooperating. Read this from Burgh Baby's Mom.

I've already written here about the struggles Mr. Daddy and I have had -- okay, it's really MY struggles -- about who to spend our holidays with, but we recently happened upon another land mine in our relationship:

Santa. As in, do we wrap the gifts that are from Santa? My answer is an emphatic NO, but Mr. Daddy is equally as horrified by the prospect of unwrapped gifts. It all goes back to, as el-e-e so astutely pointed out -- TRADITION.

In my family we always had a big gathering on Christmas Eve. We went to church, came home and ate copiously and then retired to the living room where my dad played Santa and passed out our gifts to and from each other. Then we went to bed and when we awoke, all of our glorious Santa booty was laid out for us to see (okay, that sounds all kinds of wrong, but you know what I mean!). Apparently, in Mr. Daddy's family, Santa wraps his gifts.

My first question is this: Who has that kind of time?! This spurious tradition also necessitates buying SEPARATE wrapping paper that can't be used on any OTHER presents and then must be either disposed of or completely and utterly hidden for the remaining 364 days of the year. Assuming that your preschooler won't notice that Mommy and Daddy's gifts are wrapped in the exact same paper as Santa's is not an assumption I'm willing to make at this point. I don't want Santa ruined for my 5 year old by some silly wrapping paper.

So far it hasn't really been a battle. Bubba had just turned one his first Christmas and honestly we really didn't buy him a whole lot. And we certainly didn't wrap what we did buy. Same for Christmas two and I'm thinking for Christmas three, though I can't really remember Christmas three all that clearly. Probably has something to do with the fact that I had a barely-sleeping 4 month old at the time.

It was at Christmas four that it really became an issue. Remember this train?

You don't wrap a train like that. A train like that begs to be laid out, just waiting for the sleeping child to awake. Can you imagine a four year old waking to find this train in a box? And then waiting oh so patiently (yeah right!) for Daddy to put it together. Fortunately, I was able to get Mr. Daddy to relent on the train and the "reveal" was all I could have hoped for.

But this year we're at it again. I asked Mr. Daddy the other day "Are we going to wrap gifts from Santa this year?"

"OF COURSE!"

"I just don't get it," I sighed. "What is the point? This goes against everything from my childhood."

"I can see," said Mr. Daddy laughingly "that we should have had a serious conversation about this before we got married!"

"Yeah," I replied. "Politics be damned. Let's talk about Christmas."

But we're wrapping. I guess I do see the teensiest benefit in that it does prolong the enjoyment of seeing what Santa brought, but it still just feels wrong. And like a lot of work.

Twenty Down. Only Eighty More to Go!

Here's my latest installment of my 100 Things. But first I have to share this with you. Last night we were eating dinner. Bubba asked for more milk and then proceeded to tell us he needed to go potty. As he walked down the hall toward the bathroom he said "I expect to see milk on the table when I get back." Cheeky monkey! I couldn't even scold him because I was laughing too hard.

90. I’m kind of a music snob.

89. BUT. I like Pink. The singer. It’s kind of a secret shame of mine (not anymore!). I think I like the fact that she’s a kick-ass woman who has charted her own career course and seems not to care what others think of her. She’s no Britney, that’s for sure. In case you’re interested, this and this are my favorite Pink songs.

88. I love coffee. I’m an addict. I started drinking it right after college when I joined the work force but I got really hooked when Mr. Daddy managed a Starbucks. Back then we got a free pound a week. Sigh. I seriously think they put heroin in their coffee. I think somebody needs to look into it. Seriously.

87. I love Bob Dylan. My mom loves him more. I've seen him in concert three times and once took a day off work to get tickets for my family.

86. I hate 70s music. Back in those days my mom told us that the radio in our car was broken, but knowing what I know now about my mother (and what I’ve been tempted to do many a time myself) is that our radio was not, in fact, broken. I grew up listening to Bob Dylan (see #87), Simon and Garfunkel, and Cat Stevens.

85. I’m a packrat. I’ve gotten better over the years, but I still have boxes and boxes of stuff from high school. I saved all my prom dresses for my daughter, long before Punkin was even a twinkle in her daddy’s eye. I have a really hard time deciding which of Bubba and Punkin's "art" to keep and which to throw away. They're all keepers in my eye.

84. I wish I were a better letter writer. I think it’s a lost and dying art form. My roommate from Governor’s Honors was an awesome letter writer. Granted, it was pre-email, but her letters were great and I still have most of them 17 years later.

83. I’m becoming fond of the Oxford comma. MacKenzie, a co-worker, has converted me. It often DOES clear up ambiguity.

82. I had a tonsillectomy in the third grade. Several years later I went to the doctor for a sore throat and the doctor called my mom into his office. I thought I had throat cancer or something. Turns out my tonsils grew back. It happens sometimes, apparently

81. I generally like bugs. I know that’s kind of weird and there are some bugs that definitely don’t make the cut, but I’m not afraid to pick up a beetle. Or a cricket. Or even a worm – okay I know a worm is not a bug, but they definitely fall into the creepy/slimy bracket for some people.

And there we are. This is much harder than it looks, by the way!

Punkin Funny

I have a confession to make. I know I'm probably going to get some backlash from this, but here goes: I don't really like babies very much. Okay, that's not 100% true. I love babies -- especially my own. They usually smell pretty good, the occasional poop smell notwithstanding. And they're good to snuggle with.

BUT. They are not great conversationalists you have to admit. And they rarely stun you with some out-of-left-field but right-on-target insight. And witty remarks are few and far between.

THAT's why I love toddlers and preschoolers. I love it when they're personalities start to develop. When you can see their thought processes. The other day I said that Punkin was probably going to start appearing here more and more. She's definitely coming into her own.

Yesterday Bubba was chasing her around the house with one of these:



The head and neck move when you push a button on the back and Punkin did not like it one little bit. Of course, being an almost 5 year old boy AND an older brother, he could not resist tormenting her and so he continued until she was almost in tears. Finally I intervened, "Bubba, stop that! She doesn't like it."

Punkin looked right at Bubba and said in her firmest voice "Bubba! I no like that!" You tell him, Punkin!

And then last night at bedtime Bubba and Punkin were giving each other their nightly bedtime hugs and kisses. Punkin already had her higgie and there might have been just the teensiest amount of drool on her chin. When she leaned in for her kiss Bubba said "Ewww. Punkin! That kiss was slimy!" And of course, being an almost 5 year old boy and an older brother, he kept on with the ewww-ing and the yuck-ing long after Punkin and I headed down the hall to her room. When we got to her door I guess Punkin had had enough. She turned around and yelled back down the hall "No Bubba! Not swimy!"

But the funniest things she's said lately have come on two recent mornings. On the first morning Mr. Daddy sat down next to Punkin and said "How did you sleep?" She replied "I lay down in my bed." Duh Daddy!

This morning when he asked her "How did you sleep?" she said "Zzzzzz." Looks like we've got a little Amelia Bedelia on our hands!

Can't. Move. Too. Full.

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving. One full of good food and good family. We did. The family part was good and the food part was out of this world.

On Thursday we went to my mother-in-law's house. In addition to the family we were expecting, Mr. Daddy's cousin and his wife were also there. We haven't seen them since their wedding back in 2003, so it was good to see them. Mr. Daddy and his cousin are very close in age and because my MIL and her sisters have always been so close, the cousins were close, too. Of course now everybody is spread out and they don't get to see each other very often, so that was a nice surprise.

When we spend Thanksgiving with my family, we usually have two meals -- a lunch at my dad's house with my brother and his family and all of my aunts, uncles, great-aunts and uncles and most of my cousins. After that we go to supper at my mom's with my brother, et al and most of my step-siblings, of which there are 7.

My dad had about 50 at his house for Thanksgiving. He used to own a restaurant, so cooking for large crowds is not that hard for him. And everybody brings a side dish, so he really just does the meats. But my dad will be 70 -- 70!!-- this December and it's getting a little harder for him every year. My mom has been known to have 25 or more at her house, and although she never owned a restaurant, she has become a master at cooking for large numbers. But my mom is 67, so I know it's harder for her every year, too.

Anyway, so it was weird to eat only one big meal on Thanksgiving this year. In fact, my Thanksgiving meal this year was right puny compared to meals of yore. I really only had one helping of everything, except of course the mashed potatoes and a squash casserole that was unlike any I've had before.

But then. Then. On Friday I went to my dad's house and ate leftovers for lunch. There wasn't a whole lot left over -- I mean, with 50 people you have to be a little surprised that there's ANY left over. But when I left there was NOTHING left over. I ate until I was almost sick.

Small digression -- I have a habit of doing that. Eating myself sick, I mean. When I was a child there were two things that I would eat until I was nearly nauseated. My grandmother's dressing (as in turkey and dressing) and her colored butterbeans. Dressing, of course, I only got to have at Thanksgiving, but she would cook her colored butterbeans almost every Sunday, especially during the summer when their garden was in full bloom. And I don't even know if colored butterbeans are what they're REALLY called, but that's what we called them. They were small, gray butterbeans cooked with fatback. Heav-en! And oh how I miss them.

From my dad's house we went to my mom's house. Several years ago, before my children were even born, my mother decided that if she was going to be a grandmother there were certain things she needed to learn how to cook. Chicken and dumplings was one. Dressing was the other. And her dressing is fantastic and it gets better every year. It's just not Thanksgiving to me unless I get some dressing. And though I love my MIL, even SHE apologized for using Stove Top stuffing. My mom had some dressing left over and even though I was full to bursting, I heated myself up a couple of pieces and went to town.

On Saturday we went back to my mom's house to watch the Georgia game. When we got there I helped myself to a delicious piece of my mom's homemade pumpkin cheesecake. Then we snacked on cheese and crackers and a vegetable plate while we watched the game. A beer or two might have been consumed. Then my step sister and I proceeded to eat almost an entire large pizza -- though in our defense it WAS thin crust. And I topped that off with another piece of pumpkin cheesecake. Why, yes, it was hard to find pants that fit this morning. Why do you ask?

What was the best thing you ate over Thanksgiving? Is there one thing you have to have to make the holiday complete?

The Book is Dead. Again.

Well actually, according to Newsweek and Jeff Bezos, they're not dead, they're just going digital. Here's a link to the story, if you're interested.

In case you don't feel like clicking through and reading the whole article, which in all honesty is how I often feel when I see links such as the above, I'll summarize it for you.

Jeff Bezos, who founded Amazon.com has just created the Amazon Kindle (as in kindling the flame of knowledge), the newest e-Reader. Compared, innovation-wise, with the iPhone and iPod, it does sound as though it is leaps and bounds better than other eBook readers. For it to succeed, Bezos says that "If you're going to do something like this, you have to be as good as book in a lot of respects."

Here are some of the things that Bezos says make the Kindle "as good as" a book:

• it contains an aura of "bookishness"
• it has the dimensions of a paperback
• it weighs 10.3 ounces
• it uses E Ink, a breakthrough technology that mimes the clarity of a printed book
• it has a 6" screen

And don't forget that when it's in "sleep" mode, it displays retro images of ancient texts, early printing presses and beloved authors like Emily Dickinson and Jane Austen.

Okay, where to start? Can I just go on record and say that I for one don't ever see myself falling into the eBook craze. Although the device does sound kind of cool, I just can't imagine myself settling down onto the sofa with a hard plastic case to read a good book.

A book has weight. Heft. It has a smell. It has a specific typeface (which I guess could be duplicated, BUT). It has cover art. Just go read Faster Than Kudzu (specifically the 10/19 post) to see how important cover art is to a lot of people. For me, these are all a part of the experience of a "book." Of reading.

I'm just not sure that experience can be duplicated by a machine.

Some other things the Kindle will be able to do:

• Store up to 200 books! (ummmm, isn't that what bookshelves are for? What about a library, people? While I'm all for supporting authors, oftentimes a new book just isn't in the budget, you know? That's where libraries come in handy. Kindle currently has no plans to loan books.)
• It can venture out on the Web! (ummm, again, will my computer become obsolete? Because the Kindle can also receive emails!)
• It has advertising space! (To borrow from Grey's Anatomy...Seriously? Although they say that advertising is not in their plans for the Kindle, you know it's just a matter of time. I read books to get AWAY from advertising. Will there be no space left untouched by Madison Avenue? Is nothing sacred?)

I think the most disturbing thing, though, is this quote:

"'The possibility of interaction will redefine authorship," says Peter Brantley, executive director of the Digital Library Federation, an association of libraries and institutions. 'Michael Chabon will have to rethink how he writes for this medium,' he says. Brantley envisions wiki-style collaborations where the author, instead of being the sole authority, is a "superuser," the lead wolf of a creative pack."

I don't know about you, but I don't want to tell Michael Chabon, or anyone else for that matter, how or what they should write. That's almost sacrilegious, in my opinion. The writing process is an art form, one that shouldn't be tampered with. It is storytelling. Can you imagine how Jane Eyre might have turned out if Charlotte Bronte had consulted her readers upon the completion of every chapter. It's absurd.

So, I'm curious. Is it just me? Do you ever see yourself using a Kindle? If not, is it our generation? Am I too old? Is this my my misguided attempt to hold back the sands of time? Will I, like those who proclaimed rock and roll to be the devil's music, be shaking my hips to the digital beat in 10 or 15 years? Let me know what you think. I'm curious.

Oh, She's Good. She's Really Good.

Y'all! I'm so excited! All Adither gave me this blog award today!
I'm so honored because she intimidates me slightly! She's a real live published writer! Truth be told, all you published types intimidate the heck out of me! BUT, I'm still so flattered and honored and I'm passing it on to Blowtorch in the Middle. Her writing inspires me -- her haiku are amazing -- and she usually keeps me laughing as well!

I talk a lot about Bubba and conversations he and I have. I feel like Punkin has gotten short shrift somehow. But every day she's developing into her own little person so I have a feeling she'll start showing up here more often.

Punkin has been sleeping in her toddler bed for over a week now. She seems to be adjusting well. She's only fallen out of the bed once since the first couple of nights but fortunately she went right back to sleep after I picked her up, kissed her, and put her back to bed.

Occasionally she'll still cry out at night but she can usually get herself back to sleep, unless the higgie or her bear are under the bed. But even then she'll usually go right back to sleep upon retrieval of those beloved items. (THANK GOD!)

We've even established a pretty good bedtime routine:

(1) Go potty -- with pretty regular success. She's got the going part down though she hasn't yet learned to tell me when she needs to go. I think her response is sort of Pavlovian -- sit her on the potty and she goes. Funny note, if I go potty in front of her she cheers for me "Yay, Mommy go tee tee!" It makes me laugh.

(2) Brush teeth -- This used to be an absolute chore. I have been known to pin her down and pry her mouth open just to get at her teeth. Fun. Then this weekend I bought her a new toothbrush (with Little Einsteins!) and she has been sweetness and light and oh-so-cooperative ever since. If I had known that was all it would take I would have bought her a new toothbrush ages ago.

Editorial note: Sometimes a bath comes between potty and brushing teeth. Since we're having a record-breaking, fear-inducing drought I've been bathing both kids every other night unless they're just filthy when they come home. Which Punkin usually is. That girl has a good time at daycare.

(3) Read an Angelina Ballerina story for the thousandth time. Don't get me wrong, I love Angelina myself, but a little variety wouldn't do anybody any harm is all I'm saying. I still have my glider rocker in her room, but she no longer lets me sit in it while she sits in my lap. SHE sits in the glider while I sit on the floor and read to her like the peasant that I am. Here's Madame Queen II in all her glory.



And finally (4) Lights out, sound machine on "rain" setting, lullaby sung. I've been singing the first verse of "You Are My Sunshine" to her every night since she was a newborn. Occasionally she makes me throw in "Row Row Row Your Boat" or "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" -- but ONLY if you pronounce it "twinkie," NOT "twinkle" for some reason known only to toddlers.

But here's where her mad skillz as a master manipulator have really come to the fore. After we sing and I turn off the light I say "Night night. I love you, Punkin"

"I luff you, Mommy."

"I love you, too." And I close the door.

At which point from behind the closed door I hear "I luff you, Mommy." I can't not respond. It's Pavlovian in me! I simply must reply. I can't let her go to sleep thinking I don't love her.

Open door. "I love you, too, Punkin. It's time to go night night. Go to sleep." Close door.

"I luff you, Mommy." Aghhhh!

We've been known to go back and forth like this for a good three or four minutes. I KNOW she's manipulating me but I still can't help myself.

Tonight after we did the above routine I went back to the kitchen to finish cleaning the supper dishes. I heard a distressed cry from her bedroom "MOMMY!"

Open the door. "What is it, Punkin?"

"I luff you, Mommy."

That girl! She's good! Even though I'm frustrated beyond measure (mostly because I have to keep drying my hands off!) I just can't be mad at her. She's got me wrapped around her little finger and she knows it.